


Drawing the Line

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Incest, M/M, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is where Lincoln draws the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawing the Line

Michael is where Lincoln draws the line.

Derek and him, they’ve shared a handful of women, a few jerk-off sessions while watching porn, even a guy on a night they were so wasted that he’s not even sure how they managed to get it up. But sharing Michael? Lincoln thinks not.

And yet it’s happening right here in his shabby living room, right now at two o’clock in the morning after a slightly too long boys night out. Because sometimes, Michael can be a barely legal wanton little shit. Linc will grant him that it’s not entirely his fault. Hormones plus the overwhelming feeling of too many stimuli and his self-esteem issues produce a volatile combination. According to Michael, his shrink said things would eventually settle, like with any normal young man. The shrink didn’t use the word _normal_ , obviously, because it wouldn’t have been a shrink-y thing to say. That’s just Lincoln’s interpretation. Lincoln wonders if Michael has told the shrink about his less than conventional relationship with his big brother. Probably not.

All Linc can do is keep an eye on him. Usually, it works. Usually, Linc is the one who channels – endures or benefits from, it depends – Michael’s outbursts. It’s messy and twisted; it eats away at him and fucks them up; nevertheless, the illicit bond holds something deeper that Lincoln is not too keen to consider.

= = =

It had started earlier, in the bar, with Derek jokingly hitting on Michael. An arm snaking around his hips from behind, a hand brushing over his fly, a warm breath into the crook of his neck. “You’re way too pretty for a boy, Mike.” Derek’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes shiny from one too many beers and lack of sex – he hadn’t got laid for a couple of weeks, Lincoln knew that much. Lincoln’s dark stare didn’t stop anything. Michael smiling and mellowing in the embrace didn’t help either.

It kept going on all the way back home. Wandering looks, wandering hands, so not subtle filthy innuendos, and Michael sneaking a sideways glance at Lincoln – making sure he _was_ watching – before pressing a sloppy kiss into Derek’s neck. Lincoln dug his hands into his pockets and thought _cocktease_. Except that he knew it _wasn’t_ teasing, and Michael would be delivering on his promises.

That’s why it ended up with Derek collapsing onto Lincoln’s battered couch, his legs spread wide in a familiar and relaxed position. It was Derek’s regular, careless attitude; the come-hither he gave Michael was not so regular, though, and Michael was way too willing to act on it. He knelt on the floor in front of Derek, looking up at him through thick eyelashes, his hands on the strong thighs of the other man, and his mouth already busying itself on the jeans-covered crotch.

Lincoln felt his upper lip curl in dismay and fought the urge to grab Michael by the collar of his shirt to pick him up and send him to bed.

“I didn’t think you liked men,” Michael said pensively while Derek was lazily freeing himself from his pants and briefs.

A rough thumb swept across Michael’s lower lip, the nail digging in the plump flesh. “Right now, I’d like anyone with this kind of mouth.”

“Lincoln is going to watch,” Michael announced without deigning to consult him or even look at him. “He likes to watch.”

Derek winced. “Gross.” Yeah. Gross or not, it didn’t prevent him from palming the back of Michael’s head and pushing his face down, not giving a damn whether Lincoln was or wasn’t watching.

With a sigh, Lincoln dropped next to them on the sofa and complied with Michael’s demand.

= = =

Lincoln does like to watch. And hear. He got the confirmation pretty fast, after Michael had moved his mouth up and down around Derek’s hard-on only a few times. It didn’t surprise him that he liked the show; he’d seen it coming. Before he knew it, he was reaching out, covering Derek’s hand with his own on Michael’s head and urging Mike lower, lower, until he let out a choking noise. Derek cursed and let his head loll back against the couch.

It would be a lie to pretend that he doesn’t like to watch, anyway. Michael is beautiful and enjoying himself. How could Lincoln not like to watch? Lithe body moving like a cat’s as he undresses, so graceful and predatory, lean muscles rolling and tugging, red lips stretched around Derek’s cock, smooth skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat. He’s quite a sight. Something churns in Lincoln’s stomach at the thought of other people getting pleasure from said sight; at the same time, the fact that Derek may not appreciate it the way he should riles him up.

The two men have found a pace and a position that work for both of them, lying head-to-toe with Michael above on his hands and knees – and fuck, but Derek is letting him thrust down into his mouth; sucking him so willingly and eagerly. Derek has always made it clear – to this guy Linc and he fucked together, and to any girls with ulterior motives about what the two of them would or would not do to each other – that he wouldn’t blow no guy. The feast of touching and sucking tonight has to be a testimony to Michael’s appeal and force of conviction. Maybe he does appreciate Michael the way he should, thinking about it... In his haste, he hasn’t even bothered removing all of his clothes, and Michael lets out delicious little grunts of frustration as Derek’s jeans and t-shirt keep getting in his way.

Lincoln stares and absentmindedly touches the growing hardness in his pants.

Since they ejected him out of the couch to settle more comfortably, they’ve ignored him; they’re engrossed in each other – in each other’s cock, at least, he can’t help thinking sarcastically. He’s drawn back to the sofa minutes later by Michael’s insistent gaze. He painfully gets up from his armchair, takes a second to adjust his jeans and wonders why he’s not already just taking care of himself. He should have jerked off and let them have fun with each other.

Michael slides all the way up Derek’s cock with a deliberate slurping sound and pulls Lincoln down for a kiss. He tastes like Derek, but Lincoln doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. Beneath the lingering bitter flavor, it’s _Michael_. Lincoln bites the ripe lips and swallows Michael’s moans. Good thing Derek can’t see what’s going on at the other end of the sofa.

“I want you to fuck me,” Michael breathes out into Lincoln’s mouth and, okay, _this_ might prove harder not to let Derek notice. Lincoln nods up, glancing pointedly at his friend with a frown, a warning in his eyes, but Michael whispers “I need you.” He bows down to press his face against Lincoln’s stomach, offers him a view of his back and writhing ass, and Lincoln knows he’s screwed; ready to throw all caution and restraint through the window.

He grinds his restrained erection against Michael’s face, strokes the supple muscles of his shoulders and back, and starts undressing. He only removes the essential; there’s something electrifying and decadent in the idea of Michael stark naked between Derek and him still half-clothed. He suspects Michael will like it, and if the look he gives Lincoln when he understands what the plan is means anything, he does.

= = =

Derek smirks and makes a few derogatory comments for which Lincoln can’t blame him when Michael rolls and moves until he lies down on his back, with his head hanging back over the edge of the armrest, his hands reaching for Derek’s ass, and his already swollen lips parted in an obvious suggestion. The smirk falters as Lincoln kneels on the couch between Michael’s legs and firmly grips his hips to cant them up, though. Lincoln feels dizzy in the best way, because of Derek’s reaction, because of how Michael feels. Mike is as pliable as ever in his hands, too lost in the moment to care about Derek’s shocked gasp.

“Man, you can’t...” Derek begins, staring at Lincoln in disbelief.

But he can; he does on a regular basis. And as a matter of fact, he enters Michael in one swift and ample move – and it’s scorching heat, tight velvet, red pleasure and white noise as usual, only enhanced by the imposed waiting and Derek watching with trepidation. Lincoln grits his teeth not to come on the spot and repositions Michael to his liking. One leg bent and pressed into his side, the other hooked over the back of the couch, ass up at just the right angle for both of them. Derek has frozen and he wavers between buzzing off out of here as fast as possible and rolling with whatever fuckery is happening.

He’s a good buddy, a nice friend. Someone Lincoln can trust, as much as Lincoln can trust people given who he hangs out with. That’s the paradox. He can’t admit to a good buddy’s face that he’s having sex with his own brother. Sick, you know? Both the sex and the admission. Yet, if there’s one person he can admit it to, and rely on to fulfill Michael’s... whatever it is that Michael needs or wants, it is Derek.

They look at each other above Michael’s offered body, and Lincoln’s mouth twists in a silent apology; a silent challenge too.

Michael helps Derek to make his decision, impatient and playing somewhat dirty. He cranes his neck and closes his mouth around Derek’s cock. In a matter of seconds, gloves are off because Derek might be reluctant, but there’s only so much that he can take. Neither of them waits for Michael to let them know that it’s okay, that he’s okay. He’s wanted this, he gets it. They start to move in and out in synchronization, slow and hard, tearing urgent moans out of him each time they thrust in, and equally urgent pants each time they pull back. Lincoln pats his thigh and watches with fascination as his throat swells slightly from accommodating Derek. He leans in to caress Michael’s neck, his jaw, the curve of his stretched bottom lip; his fingers are so close to Derek’s hard-on. Too close for comfort, and even closer when Michael moves in such a way that Lincoln’s fingers brush Derek’s cock. Little bastard. Derek grumbles in protest and Lincoln squints.

“Harder,” Lincoln tells Derek. “Push him harder.”

Sometimes, Michael likes it slow and soft, so slow and soft that it could kill Lincoln. Not tonight, though, not at all. Derek’s probably too dazed to realize this, but Michael so eager to take it from both ends was a fucking good clue in the first place; tugging on Derek’s cock, squeezing Lincoln’s, and rolling his hips in earnest are another one.

Lincoln removes his hand from Michael’s face – he’s going to need it to hold and stroke him down there anyway – and he and Derek work him methodically. They’re good at it, been there done that, and on some basic level, it’s not so different from banging a pretty woman picked up in a bar. Truth be told, Lincoln likes it all, Michael’s needy antics, the way he moves between them, the complicity with Derek... Even – or especially – when Derek holds his gaze, part stunned and part mesmerized, and asks coarsely, “He always such a good lay, Linc? Because he’s fucking amazing tonight.” Linc still hates the notion of sharing Michael, but the visuals and the sensations at this exact minute? Fuck yeah.

Michael’s cock is alluringly hard against the smooth skin of his stomach; it twitches of its own volition, jerks with each pump of Lincoln’s hips, and leaves thin trails of sticky fluid. Michael won’t touch himself though; he knows better, and will let Lincoln take care of it. Of him. So Lincoln takes care of him. Rolls the delicate and full balls under his fingers, strokes the shaft from root to head, presses it against the taut stomach and lets it bob a few times. The rigid flesh strains and points up at him, calling for his attention and ministrations. He provides them. He knows what Michael likes. He certainly knows what _he_ likes, the weight and silkiness of the member in his hand, the rhythmic clenching around his cock. Derek ogles but doesn’t dare to touch him; he’d better not. This part of Michael and this moment are Linc’s only.

A deep and slow thrust, and Michael arches up a tiny bit. Lincoln does it again, whispers with satisfaction, “Here he goes...” because he knows him inside and out. The way he bows his back when he’s _that_ close, the groans in the back of his throat, and the tightening of his whole body; his taste and his smell.

Michael comes first, spilling over his own stomach and chest. Not a surprise, given how unmercifully he’s been kissed, touched, caressed, sucked, used and fucked for almost an hour. Lincoln strokes him through his release, encourages him with short dirty remarks when he hums and swallows around Derek’s cock. Derek follows fast and hard, and eerily, Linc thinks he’ll need to have a discussion with him about shooting his load down his baby brother’s throat. Jerk. It’s an in-the-spur-of-the-moment consideration because he doubts he’ll be willing to bring up the memories of this night with Derek anytime soon.

Whatever. He watches Derek pull out of Michael’s mouth, eyes glassy and cock shiny with saliva; watches Michael take a deep breath and relax into the couch; watches Michael look at him and invite him to take anything he wants. He helps himself and pumps his hips, gorges on Michael’s feel, scent and encouragements whispered in this velvety voice; he scoops onto his fingers the white-translucent fluid spread across Michael’s stomach and tastes it. He thinks that Derek curses – again – at his gesture but who cares?

He focuses on Michael’s cloudy eyes when he comes and totally forgets that Derek is here, still staring and scratching his neck between two laborious attempts to catch his breath. Breathing is an issue for Lincoln too, actually. Then, for a few seconds, it’s not one anymore, not in the same way, as he lets pleasure and Michael knock the air out of him.

= = =

He couldn’t tell how long they sit perfectly still on the couch, with their clothes half on and half off, softening cocks resting on rough jeans, Michael sweaty and sticky cramped between the two of them. Eyes glazed with remaining pleasure, chests heaving, and words impossible to find. Not that Derek and Lincoln talk so much in the first place.

At some point, refusing to put too much thought into it, Lincoln pushes Michael into the back of the couch, leans across him and towards Derek and pulls in the other man for a kiss. A manly kiss, mind you, whatever this means. His hand is firm on the side of Derek’s neck, almost in the way he’d hold him for a friendly embrace. It is friendly, except maybe for the way it involves lips, tongues and teeth. And saliva. Later Michael is going to give him hell for that, but for now, he watches – it’s his turn to watch and it’s only fair – and makes a small strangled sound, aroused by the display.

Turns out that if Derek won’t suck Lincoln’s cock and will freak out a bit at the idea of Lincoln touching his package, he’s more than fine with the kissing stuff. At least tonight.

= = =

“He has a nice ass.”

Lincoln doesn’t get how or why Derek undressed fully _after_ they’d fucked, but he did and he’s now lying asleep on the couch, stark naked and face down, under Michael’s scrutinizing and appreciative glance. Lincoln has to second Michael’s opinion, yet feels the need to point out “I guess you couldn’t notice it before, given you were sucking his cock like your life depended on it,” and grabs an old blanket to throw on Derek in order to prevent his fine ass from freezing. His job done, he slouches into the armchair on the other side of the old coffee table.

“You share women with him,” Michael says.

He’d slid down the couch a while ago and is sitting on the floor, still naked. Only has bothered to put his boxer shorts back on. Lincoln can spot the dark outline of his cock beneath the fine white fabric, and goose-bumps all over his skin. His fingers itch to touch the former, his lips tingle to kiss away the latter. He doesn’t move and settles for blinking, not sure where this is going. It’s a conversation with Michael so of course he can’t ever be sure where this is going. He sees something in his brother’s eyes, a dark gleam, and scratches his lower stomach; Michael follows the motions of his fingers with interest.

“It’s happened a couple of times. You...” He holds in a frustrated sigh. “What do you want, Mike? Fucking a girl with me? With Derek and me? A guy?”

Michael’s plump lips press in a tight line. It’s usually what he does when his stupid big brother doesn’t understand things as fast as he’s expected to.

“You shared me with him.”

Oh. Okay.

“It was not the same,” Lincoln answers carefully. Those other people, it’s been about what Derek and he wanted. Derek, him, and the girl or the guy. Michael... it’s been about what _Michael_ wanted; needed; what-the-fuck-ever. Lincoln sure didn’t think too hard about Derek’s wishes. “Obviously, you had decided to get laid, and...”

He trails off and shrugs.

“And Derek was here and it was convenient? You think this is why I’m sleeping with you too, Linc? Because it’s convenient? Nice big cock at my disposal whenever I want one?”

Lincoln tiredly rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. It’s too late for this kind of questioning. He’s too exhausted and spent, and still aroused at the same time.

“You’re not a convenience,” Michael starts again. “You’re...”

“Please don’t say ‘my brother’ because _that_ would be really fucked up.”

Michael smiles a bit. He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t say either that he loves Lincoln in all the appropriate and inappropriate ways. Instead, crawling on his knees on the crappy carpet, he closes the distance between them, buries his face into Lincoln’s lap and licks the first hints of abs just below Lincoln’s ribcage. The muscles ripple in pleasure, and Lincoln parts his legs wider to let him settle between them, come close, closer, closest.

“And you needed to blow Derek to tell me that?”

“All roads lead to Rome. Getting double-teamed on my way was a nice...”

Lincoln winces and shakes his head. “Shut up.”

“You liked it, tonight.”

“Yeah.” He squeezes Michael’s shoulders between his knees, pressing hard enough to make it uncomfortable. Michael deserves it. “It’s never happening again. Let’s go to bed.”

“We’re going to sleep in the same bed with Derek in the next room?”

Michael is still nuzzling his stomach. It’s a bad idea. A pleasant bad idea. Lincoln’s head is too filled with the images from earlier not to find this exciting and make him want more.

“You should have worried about what Derek would think before fucking us both.”

“Technically, Derek and you fucked me.”

Lincoln kicks him in the thigh with the side of his heavy shoe and gets up. Just a warning, not hard enough to cause a bruise. A bruise would be hidden among the marks that will blossom tomorrow from when he held him up/down/at the perfect angle earlier to screw him, anyway. He wraps a hand around Michael’s lean and firm, perfect biceps, and pulls him up onto his feet.

“Let’s make a deal. If you stop talking and bugging me, tomorrow morning, I’ll wake you up the way you like best.”

Michael looks up at him, licks his lips once and heads for the bedroom. He slumps on the bed on Lincoln’s side, but at least he does it silently. Silent, too, the way he rolls onto his flank as Lincoln shuts the door after them. Derek will show himself out in the morning; by then, Lincoln will be fucking Michael awake and making him bite his pillow – he actually bites it on those slow, drowsy mornings, and Lincoln loves it. The thought sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine and a nice electrical surge to his cock.

A hand tucked between his cheek and the pillow, Michael closes his eyes and starts snoring lightly. Perfect cheekbones, perfect lips, perfect little snores.

“I didn’t share you with him,” Lincoln says _sotto voce_ , half wanting that his brother won’t hear him and half desperately needing that he will. Michael does pick that up, of course, and perfect blue eyes open and stare at Lincoln.

“I know.”

Michael is where Lincoln draws the line.

-End-


End file.
